


Halfway Gone

by Descaladumidera



Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Freezing, Happy Ending, M/M, Self-Blame, more or less, thoughts of dying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-13
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:27:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25249159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Descaladumidera/pseuds/Descaladumidera
Summary: Tony is left alone in a Siberian bunker to die.
Relationships: Tony Stark/Stephen Strange
Comments: 9
Kudos: 96





	Halfway Gone

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, I wrote an ouchie.

When he heard the footsteps fade into the distance, and felt the cold seep through his suit, Tony knew that he was completely and without a doubt alone. Once again left in a hostile environment that he wasn’t familiar with, his ribcage crushed, his chest wounded once more by someone he had trusted. And wasn’t that ironic? It seemed like he hadn’t learned from his past mistakes at all.

But, as he let his head fall back onto the frozen ground of the Siberian bunker, the weight of his dead suit making him unable to move, at least his last moments would look tragically beautiful. Surrounded by the clearest white in subzero temperatures, snowflakes catching in his bloodied hair, frost covering the metal of his suit, while his features were slowly turning blue. It had to make for a pretty picture, he thought, with the blood splatters around him, staining the pure white of the snow.

And even that was ironic. Why should he, the Merchant of Death, die while surrounded by something as pure as snow? It was quite fitting that it would be soiled by his blood and the blood of the men he had fought. The men who had left him here to die.

Of course he was aware that all of this was his fault. It was always his fault, Tony knew this. He always fucked up in tremendous ways, nothing new here. And a lot of times he had come close to dying. Well, apparently he had tempted fate too much this time; had expected Steve to be better. Steve, who was Captain America. His childhood idol. The man he had considered a friend, an ally, a brother. Kind of.

But as it was, Steve hadn’t thought the same of him, just like Obadiah had never considered Tony as much as family as Tony had done in return. They had both betrayed him, lied to him, hurt him. They had both left him for dead.

And maybe— _maybe_ —they were right in doing so, Tony mused. If two people considered his life worthy to be thrown away, maybe they had a point. Not that he would ever be able to ask them. Obadiah was dead and Steve was god-knows-where by now. And Tony? Well, Tony would be dead as well, and soon.

It got harder and harder to ignore the cold, seeping into his bones, biting into his skin with sharp, little teeth. His mind was wandering to dark places, but not being able to hold onto one thought, while he blinked his eyes rapidly. The blinding white of his surroundings made his head hurt, made black spots dance in his vision, and his tongue felt heavy, his mouth dry.

Tony knew he didn’t have much more time. The fact that his teeth weren’t even chattering was a very clear indicator of how weak he was. He should make peace with the fact that he was slowly dying. Freezing to death, all alone, nobody but Steve and Barnes knowing where he was. Maybe they had the dignity to notify someone of his whereabouts, but he didn’t have much hope. Why should they? Nobody would care anyway.

A sigh escaped his chapped lips, stiff from cold, followed by a cough that sprinkled his skin with hot blood, a stark contrast to the sickly blue of his flesh. His lungs felt constricted, like he couldn’t breathe in the suffocating cold, like something tried to smother him—and maybe that was simply guilt and not his crushed ribcage and the freezing temperatures.

He closed his eyes and tried to _breathe_.

The darkness was all-encompassing, reaching out for him, grabbing him, sharp claws ripping open tender flesh, until it owned him completely, never letting go, a chorus of _mine mine_ _mine mine_ _miNEMINEMINEMINEMINE_ _!_ in a distant part of his mind. He knew he had to open his eyes, had to keep fighting, but it was so much easier to give in, so much easier to give up and rest. Tony didn’t want to fight anymore. He wanted this war to end.

And then the darkness was gone, an orange light piercing through his closed eyelids, a warm breeze tickling his lips, finally making him able to _breathe_ again. It was like some sort of spell was broken, Death having retreated and granting him one more chance at life. Tony wanted to sob. This seemed like a cruel joke, like something wanted him to think he could be saved, even though he knew it wasn’t possible. Nobody would come.

Nobody would be able to come here quick enough. It simply wasn’t possible. So this had to be Tony’s senses playing tricks on him, Death taunting him one more time before taking him, bringing him to Hel. Well, if Death wanted him, she could have him. Tony was done fighting. He just wanted to rest. _Please_. He just wanted to _rest_. And if that meant he had to follow the cruel mistress, he would. _Please just make this end!_

He closed his eyes again and gave in to the inevitable. And maybe because he was already halfway gone, he imagined to hear a voice.

“I’ve got you, Stark. Don’t you worry.”


End file.
